Repressions Revealed
by Raivis-Latvijas
Summary: Bulgaria and Bosnia played some cards, and Bosnia ended up intoxicated. Bulgaria, being the curious man he was, asked some questions. Little did he know, those questions would end up causing an argument-spurred confession in a hospital. BulgariaxBosnia.


**A/n:** Well, thanks to a friend, I've now written BulgariaxBosnia. I regret nothing. I have to admit though, this was a challenge to write.

The two main characters in this story are Bulgaria (Apostol Svetozar) and my OC Bosnia (Zlatko Pilav). There are two other OCs of mine involved; Macedonia (Nikodemos Antonov) and Montenegro (Branko Njegos). Just a warning for anyone who doesn't like OCs.

Enjoy.

**Xxx**

Bulgaria really should have been paying attention to the meeting going on around him, but he was extremely distracted.

Even though the nations were in Skopje for the meeting and Macedonia was supposed to be keeping order, the Macedonian representation simply sat back while odd topics were brought up and argued about.

Bulgaria couldn't stop staring at Bosnia, who was sitting across the table, dull green eyes staring off into space. Bosnia had been silent the entire meeting for the thousandth time.

How could he possibly be so quiet? How could he possibly stay so calm and composed with chaos all around him?

He had to find out. He was compelled to; but how would he go about talking to Bosnia? Sure, Bulgaria was a pretty friendly guy, but Bosnia just seemed so… standoffish. Unapproachable.

Looking over the other representation, Bulgaria noted the fact that he and Bosnia looked rather similar. Same dark hair, same light skin, same green eyes. Though Bosnia's eyes were a darker shade, and his hair was slightly longer and styled.

When Bulgaria's observations of the other man ended, he realized that the meeting was coming to a close and nations were departing. He stood and stretched a bit, watching as Bosnia exited the conference room. Bulgaria followed him out, catching up to him as he got to the elevator.

Hitting the down arrow on the wall next to the elevator doors, Bosnia glanced over at Bulgaria silently, then looked away.

"How've you been, Zlatko? It's been a while since we've talked." Bulgaria said, trying to start up a conversation with the other representation.

"Been better." Bosnia stated simply. As the doors opened, the two entered the elevator. Bosnia pressed the lobby button, and the doors shut. Bulgaria thought for a moment before speaking again.

"So do you have some free time tonight?" He asked.

"Not doing anything important." Bosnia replied.

"Care to head over to my hotel? Play some cards, maybe? I know it's been a while since you've done some good gambling."

"Fine by me."

"I've got a few bottles of vodka in the fridge too if you want to drink a bit. You seem tense as hell all the time, Zlatko."

"I could use a drink… Every round of cards lost you drink a shot of vodka?" Bosnia smirked slightly. Bulgaria knew it was going to be hard to stay sober; Bosnia was a tough gambler. Last time they had involved drinking and playing cards in the same night, Bulgaria had woken up with a horrible hangover.

"You're on, Bosna." Bulgaria grinned.

Upon leaving the conference building, the two took a taxi to the hotel Bulgaria was staying at. They got to Bulgaria's room with ease.

Bosnia removed his blue suit coat and tossed it over the back of one of the chairs at a circular wooden table towards the corner of the room. Bulgaria fetched a bottle of vodka from the small fridge by the door, then reached into the inside of his suit coat, retrieving a deck of playing cards from an inside pocket.

He tossed the cards on the table and set the bottle of vodka down.

"Same game as usual, Apostol? Draw five, lowest hand value wins?" Bosnia asked.

"Yeah. There's no shot glasses around here, so we'll just use the cap to the bottle. That fine by you?" Bulgaria questioned. Bosnia nodded.

"Yeah."

"Alright then; let's get started…" Bulgaria took a seat in the chair across from Bosnia, taking the cards out of the pack and setting them face down at the center of the table.

"Let's make this fair; if one person gets five shots in a row, the other has to take three." Bosnia said.

"Alright." Bulgaria agreed, drawing five cards from the deck. To be honest, he was glad this game they were playing was a game of luck. That way, Bosnia couldn't outsmart him.

He watched as Bosnia drew five cards then looked at them, counting the value of his cards. Bulgaria looked at his own cards, cringing slightly when he realized how high the value of his cards were.

"What do you have, Zlatko?" He asked. Bosnia laid his cards down on the table, face up.

"Twenty."

"Damn." Bulgaria cursed, tossing his cards down and grabbing the bottle of vodka. He unscrewed the cap then turned it over, pouring the vodka into said cap then taking a shot.

The game went on for about a half hour before Bulgaria had to call it quits. He was only a bit buzzed himself, but due to a little luck on his side, he ended up with an extremely drunk Bosnian on his hands.

Bosnia, nearly falling out of his chair, pointed at Bulgaria across the table.

"You have no idea how much I've fucking been through, you lucky bastard!" The man exclaimed, voice slurred from the alcohol running through his system.

"I think I know, Zlatko… We're both nations here; we've both experienced tragedies." Bulgaria responded.

"But have you experienced mine? Srebrenica! Nineteen… Ninety five! I-" The Bosnian hiccupped. "I watched it! I was there; they killed my people! Apostol, you… you don't know what my eyes have seen! I know you've never been forced to shoot your own people! I… I was the one who held the gun, and… and Novak! Novak Novkovic, that fucking insane Serb… Do you know him? You know Novak, right?"

Bulgaria sat there, listening to Bosnia ramble on drunkenly. He was actually learning about the typically silent man from his drunken mind.

"Course you know Novak; you're probably a friend of his! That bastard, he shot me! You're friends with the guy whose made me suffer like… a lot! I've been through too fucking much!"

"Can I ask you a question?" Bulgaria cut in before Bosnia could continue.

"What?"

"Why are you so quiet?"

"Before I even knew you as a friend, Apostol, I was like… Way fucked up. When… When I was ruled by Austria-Hungary, that bastard Austria and I didn't get along… It was like every word out of my mouth was another huge mistake to him so… I just kind of stopped talking! And then after World War One, in the Kingdom of Yugoslavia, I didn't ever feel like talking because no one would listen to me anyways! Serbia and Croatia and all of those guys just argued over stupid shit, and even if it involved me I didn't say a word! Imagine that, Apostol! Someone talks to me, and I don't reply at all! Not even a mutter like I do nowadays!"

'_Wow Zlatko is talkative when he's drunk… Not only that, but truthful…'_ Bulgaria thought as Bosnia continued his drunken rant.

"And then World War Two came around and it was just a tragedy! I mean, I was ceded to Croatia! That fucker was a Nazi and he knows it!" Bosnia slammed a hand on the table. "Have you ever heard of all the war crimes that were committed against Bosnian Muslims in World War Two? No! 'Cause I don't talk about it! I never talk about that stuff!"

"But you're talking about it now."

"Because I'm telling you… a story. Now listen!" Bosnia lifted up a pointed finger. "You know about the second Yugoslavia just like any European does. It was a fucked up time with a lot of mistakes, and it just made everything worse! I don't know what happened, but I ended up in the Bosnian War in 1992! Never thought I'd see my own people get slaughtered, but they did! Fucking massacres and pointless shootouts! Srebrenica! I was there and Serbia fucking lost it! I was silent for a year after that! Slowly! Slowly I've opened up! You're lucky I even talk at all! It's been a long time, but I still hurt from everything that's been done to me! My memory fails me at times, but I know certain events like the back of my hand!"

"Why are you still quiet even in modern times?"

"Because of my memories… They hurt. If I talk too much, I'll break down crying. It's happened before! You saw, right? It was at a meeting; were you there?"

"I don't think I was."

"… Whatever." The Bosnian reached for the bottle of vodka that remained on the table, but Bulgaria snatched it away.

"No more vodka for you, Bosnia. You're drunk as hell."

"So what? At least I don't feel any fucking pain!" Bosnia stood, waving his arms in a drunken manner.

"But you'll be feeling it in the morning." Bulgaria meandered back over to the fridge, putting the bottle of vodka in it then turning around only to be met face to face with the drunken representation he was with.

"You know, Apostol, you're not a half bad guy." Bosnia's breath reeked of the vodka Bulgaria had just put away.

"Don't start complimenting me, Bosnia. Go lay down. Pass out." Bulgaria retorted, backing up away from the other man.

"Oh come on, Apostol! I'm not doing anything wrong! How long's it been since you were last complimented? Years, right?" Bosnia stepped forward, getting close to Bulgaria once again.

"No. Now get away from me, Zlatko. I don't like being backed into corners like this."

"What're you going to do? Beat me up? Good fucking luck! I've been beat the hell out of my entire life!"

"Bosnia, please. Go lay down. You're getting hostile now, and I don't like it."

"Come on, Bulgaria! Do something!" Bosnia got just an inch closer to the other man, setting off an alarm in Bulgaria's head. The Bulgarian representation placing his hands on the other's chest and shoved the drunken Bosnian away, sending the man stumbling backwards. Bosnia fell, smacking the back of his head hard on the edge of the table they had previously been playing cards on.

Bulgaria cursed in his native tongue and rushed over to Bosnia's side, realizing the man was unconscious. There was a gash in the back of his head which was bleeding quite a bit. Bulgaria, using the minor medical knowledge he had acquired over his years, stood and hurried to the bathroom. He retrieved a washcloth then brought it back out to the unconscious Bosnian, holding the cloth firmly against the back of Bosnia's head.

"… Didn't mean to hurt you, Bosna…" He muttered, feeling the blood from the back of the injured Bosnian's head soak through the thin washcloth held against it. "Need to get you to a hospital…"

Still firmly holding the cloth up against Bosnia's head, Bulgaria sat the other man up.

"There's no way I'm going too be able to carry you… I need some help." Digging into his pocket with his free hand, the Bulgarian representation retrieved his cell phone. Looking through his contacts, he found a person that knew the city and would likely help Bulgaria get Bosnia to a hospital.

Hitting the green button towards the side of his phone's keyboard, he called the number, holding his phone up to his ear.

"_Montenegro speaking."_

"Montenegro; long time no talk. Listen, I've got an unconscious Bosnia on my hand with a big gash in the back of his head. Can I get some help getting him out of the hotel room and to a hospital?"

"_Wh-What? Of course, but, how did he get hurt?"_

"Well, we were just drinking and playing a card game, which got him pretty drunk… Uh, since I'm pretty much sober, and when he's drunk he opens up a lot, I decided to ask him some questions so I could figure out why he's so quiet all the time and… After his huge rant about his past, he reached for the bottle of vodka sitting on the table, but I took it away then went over to the fridge to put it away… When I turned around, Zlatko was right in front of me, and got kind of hostile…"

"_What did you do?"_

"All I did was shove him away from me, Branko. He fell backwards and hit his head on the table; he was backing me into a corner and I didn't like where things were going! He sounded like he wanted to hurt me or something!"

"_What's your room number?"_

"275."

"_I'm in room 421. I'll be down in a few moments to help."_

"Alright. See you in a bit."

Bulgaria hung up the phone and shoved it back in his pocket, looking back to the Bosnian he was holding. The blood-soaked cloth he had pressed onto the back on the man's head was going to be stained red permanently from the looks of it.

When Montenegro entered the unlocked door of the room, he immediately rushed over to the other side of Bosnia.

"Move the cloth, Apostol." The Montenegrin said. Bulgaria lifted the cloth from the back of Bosnia's head so that Montenegro could inspect the wound. After a few seconds, Montenegro shook his head a bit.

"You must've pushed him with some force, because I can see his skull… Let's get him out of here and to a hospital. Grab his arm and put it around your shoulders; I'm going to do the same. We'll carry him to the elevator and once we're out of the elevator we'll head to my car in the parking lot. I know my way around Skopje pretty well."

The two slowly lifted Bosnia up, both of the man's arms draped around their shoulders.

"That cloth won't help much now, Apostol. Leave it." Montenegro said. Bulgaria nodded and dropped the cloth on the floor, knowing he would be back later to clean up the hotel room.

The blood continued to drip down Bosnia's head as Montenegro and Bulgaria carried the man, leaving a trail of red spots down the halls. Waiting in the elevator left a small pool of blood, and as the doors opened, two young women were stunned by the scene before them.

"_Izvinite_." Montengro muttered to the women as they moved out of the way, allowing the two in the elevator room to carry the unconscious Bosnia out.

Once the three were at Montenegro's car, the Montenegrin representation turned to Bulgaria.

"Are you going to come along, or are you going to stay behind to clean up that crime scene?" He asked.

"Crime scene? What did I do wrong? He was the one getting too close to me; he was drunk and getting hostile! I didn't mean to hurt him!"

"Bullshit."

"Seriously, Montenegro? Why're you so hostile towards me for defending myself? I did not mean to push Bosnia hard enough to make him fall and hit his head! Can't you-"

"What the hell is going on here?" Montenegro and Bulgaria turned to see Macedonia approaching.

"It's not of your concern, Niko." Montenegro stated.

"Right." Macedonia's voice was laced with sarcasm. "It's within my borders, isn't it?"

"It doesn't matter. Zlatko needs to get to a hospital because someone decided to push him into a table."

"Navistina?" Macedonia looked to Bulgaria. "Is that so? I thought you and Bosnia were friends."

"We are! Bosnia had drank a little too much while we were playing a card game; when he backed me into a corner, I shoved him away, and in his drunken state he fell and hit his head on the edge of the table. He was getting hostile with me; can we just get him to a hospital and resolve our conflicts later?" Bulgaria asked. He was offended at the fact that Montenegro was blaming the wound on him, but he supposed there was a reason behind it.

He could hear jealousy in the Montenegrin's voice; Bulgaria remembered that Montenegro and Bosnia once had a relationship that had been terminated around twenty years ago. He only knew because of a mentioning that had slipped from the mouth of Montenegro a few years after the breakup of Yugoslavia.

"It'd be best if we did get him to the hospital. Branko, you know the way, right?" Macedonia asked Montenegro.

"Of course I do; I've spent enough time in Skopje in my life to know my way around decently." Montenegro retorted.

"Well, get going. I expect you two to behave in the hospital; I don't want anymore of this chaos between you two going on. I may like conflict, but between two guys who typically get along? Unacceptable."

"Alright. We'll talk to you later, Niko."

With that, Montenegro got into the driver's seat of the car. Bulgaria sat in the back seat with the still unconscious Bosnia. Soon, the three were in the hospital. Bosnia was in a hospital bed, with Montenegro on one side and Bulgaria on the other.

Bosnia had received a mild concussion and twelve stitches in the back of his head to seal the laceration.

Montenegro sighed. "I can't believe that you did this to him, Apostol."

"For God's sake, Branko, I didn't mean to hurt him! Why do you need to keep blaming me? He was drunk and hostile. I pushed him because he had backed me into a corner; I was afraid of what he was going to do. If you knew anything about me, you'd know that I hate being backed into corners. I had being in small, enclosed spaces."

"I'm not going to blame Bosnia, if that's what you're implying."

"But he is the one at fault!"

"Don't you understand that he doesn't need to be blamed any more? He's blamed himself for everything for pretty much the entire course of the 1900s!"

"…"

"I loved him for a while, Apostol. Even if he doesn't remember those days, I always will. I just want what's best for him, and him being blamed for something, even if it's his fault in the end, may hurt him."

"I understand… but Branko, can I confess something here?"

"What is it?"

"I think… I think Zlatko may be very dear to me in my heart. Even after tonight."

"Very dear to… Wait, are you saying that you… That you love him?"

"Quite possibly…"

Montenegro let out a shaky sigh and looked down. "I suppose it's the way things go… and I suppose that I can't stop you from feeling that way. Zlatko can't remember that he once loved me; I suppose that if he condones your feelings… I will have no reason to be upset. At least he will be happy."

Bulgaria chewed on his lip and took a breath, opening his mouth as if he were going to say something, but a movement from the man in the hospital bed caught his attention. Bosnia groaned and brought his hands up to his face, shielding his eyes from the light.

"Branko…?" The man asked. "Where am I…?"

"A hospital in Skopje…" Montenegro replied quietly.

"… Why…?"

"You got knocked unconscious after drinking a lot."

"… I was drinking…?"

"Do you remember anything about today?"

"…No."

"Bulgaria, care to tell him what happened?"

Bulgaria sighed. "Sure… Well, Zlatko, after the meeting here in Skopje, I invited you to have some drinks and play cards like we have before… You got pretty drunk, so I guess… I guess I took advantage of your drunken talkativeness, and asked you some questions regarding your past… I guess you got mad at me when I tried to put the vodka away, so you got up… And you backed me into a corner. As you know well, I don't like being backed into corners… I panicked and I pushed you… You fell backwards, and you hit your head really hard on the edge of the table… You got knocked unconscious with a gash in the back of your head…"

"I called Branko for help, and he came and helped get you to the hospital… You have stitches in the back of your head, and probably one hell of a hangover…"

Bosnia stayed silent for a decent amount of time before speaking. "… I want out of this hospital." He stated.

"We have to wait for a nurse to make sure you're alright to leave…"

"Why did you take me here, of all places…? You know I hate hospitals, Branko."

"… I couldn't simply patch you up like I have before. It was too much of a wound for Apostol and I to handle on our own." Montenegro responded, eyes downcast.

"… I understand…"

Montenegro sighed heavily. "… I'm going to leave, you two. I have to be back in Podgorica in an hour, so… I will keep in contact… Bulgaria, if you could, keep me updated on Bosnia's condition."

"I will. Thanks for the help, Branko."

"You're welcome. I'll see you two again soon." With that, Montenegro made his exit.

Bulgaria sighed. "How're you feeling?" He asked Bosnia.

"… How do you think I'm feeling?"

"Hung over… in a lot of pain?"

"Yes… And I'm really lost."

"What do you mean?"

"I am… dear to your heart?"

"You heard that?"

"Only a little… I had just started to come to when you and Branko were talking…"

Bulgaria sighed. "Well… did you hear what I said after that?"

"… Yes…"

"What… is your opinion on it?"

"… I don't know what I should say… I feel… I feel like it's alright, but… what was Crna Gora talking about, that he loved me?"

"It's one of the memories you've repressed… Don't think too much, alright? Just disregard what he said… It'd be best if you didn't remember what happened twenty years ago."

"… Okay…"

"So you… could you give me a chance?"

"For what…?"

"For us to be together…?"

Bosnia was silent for a while; deep in thought, he stared at the ceiling. Bulgaria waited anxiously for his answer; heart racing, hands shaking slightly. Finally, an answer came.

"… I guess we can give it a shot…"

Bulgaria broke into a smile. "Thank you, Bosna… I promise, you won't regret this."

"… I don't believe I will be able to regret being with someone like you, Apostol… You've done nothing wrong to me in the past that I can remember… I have no reason to suspect that you'd do anything wrong in the future…"

"Yeah…" Bulgaria sighed. "You should rest, Zlatko… I'll stay here with you."

"… But what of your boss wanting you back in Sofia?"

"I can disregard hem for a while… I want to be sure that you get the care you need."

A small smile made it's way onto Bosnia's face; a rare sight to see when the man was outside of his home.

"Thank you, Apostol… I… I will rest now…" Bosnia shut his eyes and his breathing slowed as he rather quickly drifted into slumber.

Bulgaria smiled and brought a hospital blanket over the torso of the Bosnian, before standing and heading to the large window at the other side of the room. He stared out over the cityscape of Skopje; the sun was just starting to rise, casting a dim glow over the streets. He sat down in a chair and propped an elbow up on the arm of it, bringing his hand up and resting his head on his palm.

His gaze shifted from the city outside the window to Bosnia, who was resting quietly.

"… _Obicham tye, Bosna_. _Da spim dobre._"


End file.
